A Regency Officer's Wedding: The Admiral's Penniless Bride / Marrying the Royal Marine

Sally gasped and laughed out loud. ‘Admiral Bright, I cannot take you anywhere!’

He merely smiled. ‘Madam wife, I am a pig in a poke. I thought it best not to mention the fact until after our wedding. Imagine what surprises await you.’

She would have returned a sharp rejoinder, except the butler returned and indicated in his princely way that they should make themselves comfortable in the sitting room.

‘Our fortunes seem to be shifting ever so slightly,’ Bright murmured when the butler left them alone there. ‘Brimley. I wish I could remember.’

They waited a long while, long enough for Sally to overcome her terrors and walk around the room, admiring the fine paintings. When the admiral began sneaking looks at his timepiece, the door opened to admit Lord Brimley himself. She glanced at her husband, but saw no recognition in his eyes.

‘I am Brimley,’ the man said, inclining his head towards them. ‘Admiral Bright, accept my condolences in the purchase of that miserable estate.’ He smiled at them both, but there was no warmth in his eyes. ‘I can only assume that since you have a wife—and a lovely one, I might add—that you intend to paint the rooms.’

‘I do, my lord, since I wish to keep my wife,’ Bright said. ‘As a seaman not long on land, though, I am a bit at a loss how to find workers.’

‘You need a proper steward.’

‘My wife thinks I need my head examined,’ Bright said frankly. ‘But the view…oh, the view. Can you see the ocean from your estate?’

The marquis did not answer for a long moment. Sally watched in surprise and then consternation as a whole range of emotions crossed his face. ‘I rejoice, Admiral, that I cannot,’ he said finally, as though each word was tugged from his mouth by iron pincers.

She glanced at her husband, noting his frown. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

‘The ocean is not to everyone’s taste, I imagine,’ she said, filling the awkward void.

‘It is not to mine.’

The embarrassing silence was filled by the return of the butler and a maid, who deposited a tray on the small table between them. The marquis indicated Sally should pour, and she did.

They sipped their tea. When the silence was nearly unendurable, the marquis turned slightly to face Admiral Bright. ‘You do not know who I am?’ he asked, his tone frigid.

‘My lord, I do not.’

‘Perhaps you will know this name: Thomas Place.’

Admiral Bright set down his tea cup with a click. ‘I know that name as well as my own, my lord. Was he your son?’

‘My only child.’

‘Lieutenant Thomas Place, Viscount Malden,’ Bright murmured. He stood up and walked to the window and back again, the marquis’s eyes on him. ‘He made sure that none of us would use his title, so he was Mr Place to me. I had to bark at him a time or two, but he was a good lad. I was his captain.’

‘I know you were, Admiral,’ the marquis said, rising to join Bright by the window. ‘I have followed your career with some interest.’ He looked at Sally, and she could see only infinite sorrow in his eyes now. ‘Lady Bright, I hated your husband for nearly twenty years. Until three years ago, as a matter of fact.’

Sally looked at both men, her eyes wide. She tried to interpret her husband’s expression, except that there was no expression now, only the uncompromising gaze of a man caught off guard and righting himself by the greatest of efforts. She rose, or tried to, except that the admiral had returned to her side and was gently pressing down on her shoulder with his one good hand.

‘No fears, my dear,’ he said and leaned down to put his cheek next to hers, for a brief moment. She found the sudden gesture reassuring beyond words and relaxed. He lightened the pressure on her shoulder, but did not remove his hand.

‘Say on, my lord,’ he said, his voice firm and very much in command.

As Sally watched, horrified, the marquis seemed to wilt before her eyes. Her husband must have noticed it, too, because he returned to the man by the window and put his hand under his arm to support him. Without a word, he led the marquis back to his seat. Sally did rise then, and went to sit beside Lord Brimley. If he were one of my old ladies, I would do this, she thought, as she quickly removed her bonnet, set it aside and took a napkin from the tray. As he watched her, his eyes dull, she dipped it in the tea and dabbed gently at his brow. ‘There now, my lord. Do you wish me to summon your butler?’

Her simple act seemed to rouse him. He shook his head. ‘No. No. Bedders would only act like my old maid aunt, and worry me to death.’

‘Your wife then, my lord? Should we summon her?’

‘My dear, she is dead these past three years. And that is what I need to tell your husband.’ He patted the seat on the other side of him. ‘Sit down, lad,’ he ordered, as though there were many more years between them.

‘I…uh…I really don’t know what to say, my lord,’ Bright began, looking mystified.

‘Of course you do not. You never knew us.’

They were both silent. Sally yearned to jump into the conversation. She fought down a fierce urge to defend her husband, an urge so strong that it startled her, considering the briefness of their acquaintance. She looked down and noticed her hands were balled into fists. She glanced up at her husband, who had been watching the gesture, again with that unreadable expression.

The marquis spoke, looking at her. ‘Lady Bright, my son served under your husband on the…the Caprice…was it not? I thought I would never forget. Considering how many years have rolled over the matter, perhaps it is not so surprising.’

‘The Caprice. My first command. We took the ship to the Antipodes. We were not at war with France or Spain then, and our assignment was to ferry a naturalist—one of Sir Joseph Banks’s protégés—to find something called a fairy tern.’

‘You were successful, I believe, at least according to the last letter I ever received from my boy.’ The marquis’s voice broke on the last word, and Sally felt her heart turn over. She took his hand. He offered no resistance to her touch.

‘Yes. We accomplished our orders and were returning to Plymouth,’ Bright said. ‘We needed to take on food and water, so we docked at Valparaiso, not knowing that Spain and England were at war again.’

He paused and gazed out the window for a long moment. ‘And there my boy died in the fight that followed, as you clawed your way out of the harbour,’ Lord Brimley said. He looked at Sally then. ‘Do you have sons, my dear?’

‘None living,’ she whispered. Bright reached across the marquis to touched her hand.

‘I am sorry for you both,’ Lord Brimley replied. ‘I know the feeling. If I thought I could do it and not collapse, I would summon Bedders to fetch the letter of condolence your husband wrote to me, twenty-three years ago. I can quote it: “I am relieved to be able to inform you…”’

He could not go on, but Bright could. ‘“…that your son’s death was quick and painless.”’

The words hung in the room like a powerful stench. The old man raised his head again. ‘Was it a lie? Did you lie to me at such a moment?’

Sally let out the breath she had been holding, her eyes on her husband. She could almost hear the tension in the room humming like a wire stretched taut and snapped.

‘I did, my lord.’

The marquis must have been holding his breath, too, because it came out in a sudden whoosh that made Sally jump. ‘I thought you had, and I hated you for it. I thought you a coward for not having the courage to tell the truth about the last moments of a sterling lad dearer to my heart than any other creature on earth.’

Bright said nothing. He looked at the floor as though wishing it would open and swallow him. It was Sally’s turn to reach across the marquis and touch his hand.

‘Do you want me to tell you?’ he said finally.

‘I thought I did,’ the marquis admitted. ‘When I heard you had retired—oh, yes, I have followed your career—I wanted to ask.’ He shook his head. ‘Not to confront you or berate you, mind you; not after what happened three years ago. But just to know.’

‘What changed your mind three years ago?’ Bright asked.

‘My wife died,’ the marquis said simply. ‘Naturally I was at her bedside through the long ordeal.’ He looked at Sally, tears in his eyes. ‘She was a dear old girl. Do you know what her last words to me were?’

Sally shook her head. He turned his attention to the admiral. ‘Look at me, Bright! Her last words on this whole earth were, “Thank God my boy did not suffer. Thank God!” With a smile so sweet, she slipped from my life.’

He cried then, grasping both their hands. ‘I knew it was a lie, but that lie had sustained my dear one through years of what probably would have been unbearable torment, had she known the truth. I had no idea, until that moment. I decided then that I would not hate you any longer, Sir Charles.’

The quiet in the room was unbroken until the butler opened the door quietly, then closed it. The marquis sat back then, patting their hands. ‘I never thought to have this moment to tell you, at least until the estate agent shared the news of the estate sale. He thought I would be pleased to have good neighbours. And I am.’

Sally looked at her husband, astounded at his composure. Who is this man I have married on such short notice? she asked herself again.

‘I don’t know what to say, my lord,’ Bright said at last. ‘Would you like me to tell you how he died? I have never forgotten.’

The marquis gave him a shrewd look. ‘I doubt you have ever forgotten how any of your men died.’

‘I have not,’ Bright said simply, with the smallest catch in his voice.

‘I thought I wanted to know. For years, I thought I did.’ The old man shook his head. ‘Now I think it does not matter. He is at peace.’

Bright nodded. ‘Let me tell you that he was brave. My surgeon and I sat with him throughout the entire ordeal. That is no lie. He suffered, but he did not suffer alone. Mercifully, towards the end, he went into a coma and was no longer conscious. Any of us in the fleet would have envied the conclusion, my lord, and that is no lie.’

The marquis nodded, and sipped his tea in silence. When he spoke again, he addressed the admiral in a kindlier tone. ‘Look here, lad. What you need is a good steward to make all those onerous arrangements.’ He made a face. ‘I have been in that house a grand total of once, and never took my wife there. You are obviously married to a tolerant lady.’

‘I am realising that more as each day passes,’ Bright said, with a sidelong look at Sally that pinked her cheeks. ‘I fear my credit will not last for ever, though, no matter how charming she thinks I am. A good steward, eh?’

‘Yes, indeed.’ He leaned towards Bright. ‘If you don’t think I am an old meddler, I may have such a fellow. He’s been the under-steward here for several years and I think he is chafing to advance. May I send him your way? On approval, of course.’

‘My lord, I would be honoured.’ He touched Sally under the chin with his hook, which made her smile. ‘And my dear lady would be relieved.’

The marquis turned almost-fatherly eyes on her. ‘Lord, how she blushes! I didn’t know anyone blushed any more.’

They stayed a few more minutes. The admiral shook his head at staying for luncheon. ‘We have overstretched our welcome, Lord Brimley,’ he said in apology. ‘I did want to meet my neighbours, though.’

‘And you will both return, I trust,’ the marquis replied as he rose to his feet. He smiled at Sally, taking her by both hands. ‘Can you not convince your husband to stay for luncheon?’

Sally looked at the admiral, but he shook his head. ‘Not this time, my lord. Please do ask us again, though.’

Bright was silent after they left, looking neither right nor left until they were out of sight of the manor, and any prying eyes. When they turned the bend in the lane, he suddenly sank to his knees. His hat fell off as he leaned forwards. Astonished, Sally knelt beside him, her hand across his back. To her horror, he began to sob.

There was a roadside bench not far from the lane. Murmuring nonsensicals to him, she took him by the arm and helped him there, where he leaned back, his face pale and bleak. ‘You couldn’t manage one more minute there, could you?’ she asked.

He shook his head as the tears streamed down his face. He seemed not to mind that she saw them. What do I do? she asked herself, and then knew the answer. Without a word, she gathered him close to her, saying nothing because she had no words to ease his pain, only her body. She held him close and smoothed down his hair.

‘You haven’t forgotten one of them, have you?’ she asked.

He shook his head, unable to speak. She sat there, the admiral as tight in her arms as she had ever held her son. As she breathed the pleasant scent of his hair, it occurred to Sally that during the whole of his terrible ordeal with the lords of the Admiralty, Andrew had never let her console him, as she consoled this man she barely knew. And look what happened to you, Andy, she thought, as she held Admiral Bright. Maybe you should have done what this man is doing. Look what we have lost.

Chapter Nine

‘You must think me a very big fool,’ the admiral said, his voice still muffled against her breast.

‘I think nothing of the kind,’ she said gently. Truth to tell, she had felt the calculus around her heart loosen a bit. ‘I cannot imagine the burden you have carried through all those decades of war.’

He sat up, taking a handkerchief from his coat pocket. ‘I’m an attractive specimen,’ he murmured, not looking at her. ‘Do I wipe my eyes or blow my nose?’ He cursed unguardedly. ‘Pardon me.’ He pressed the cloth against his eyes, then blew his nose. ‘He caught me broadside, Sophie. I had no idea who Lord Brimley was.’

He looked at her then, embarrassment colouring his cheeks. Without even pausing to think, she touched his face. So quick she barely felt it, he kissed her palm.

‘Wasn’t I the kind man to marry you to lift your burdens?’ he said. ‘Oh, the irony. I don’t suppose you knew what you were getting into.’

‘Did you?’ she asked. Does anyone? she asked herself, feeling suddenly greener than the greenest bride.

They sat there in silence. ‘Penny for your thoughts, Sophie,’ he said finally. He stood up and pulled her to her feet, offering her his arm again as they turned towards their own manor.

She had no idea how to put into words what she was feeling, or if she even understood the emotions that tugged at her like a ship swinging on its anchor. ‘I suppose you are thinking that life on land is complicated.’

‘But what are you thinking?’ he persisted.

‘Precisely that,’ she said, a little surprised at him. ‘I don’t know that I was even thinking about myself.’

‘Thank you, then,’ he replied. ‘I doubt I deserve such attention.’

She was happy he seemed content to walk in silence. I think I have learned something this morning, she told herself as she matched her stride to his—not a hard matter, because they were much the same height. Maybe I am learning that my troubles are not the only ones in the world.

It was something to consider, and she wanted a moment alone to think about it. To her gratification, the admiral asked if she wouldn’t mind spending the afternoon by herself, as he wanted to go down to the beach and think about things. ‘Not at all,’ she told him. ‘Shall I ask Starkey to serve you luncheon on the beach?’

He nodded. ‘Have him put it in a hamper. You don’t mind?’

‘I just said I didn’t,’ she assured him. ‘Charles, if we are to rub along together, you need to take me at my word.’

‘I suppose I must,’ he agreed.

She ate her luncheon on the terrace, which Starkey had swept clear, then went upstairs to count the sheets in Lord Hudley’s linen closet—prosaic work that suited her mood. Thank goodness he had an ample supply was her first thought, then she blushed to think of all the activity on all the beds in the manor, at least once a year, when he held his orgies. No wonder he had sheets, and good ones, too. It was the same with pillowslips and towels. The old rascal practically ran a hotel for geriatric roués just like him.

The admiral hadn’t returned by dinner. After a solitary meal in the breakfast room, she asked Starkey about it.

‘He likes his solitude, ma’am, when he’s troubled,’ Starkey said.

She could tell by the look he gave her that Starkey considered her at fault for the admiral’s mood. Let him think what he will, she decided, after an evening alone in the sitting room, where she made lists of projects for the house and tried to ignore the cupids overhead, with their amorous contortions.

To her bemusement, she did not sleep until she heard Bright’s footsteps on the stairs. She sat up in bed, her arms around her knees, as she heard him approach her door, stand there a moment, then cross the hall to his own room. She lay down then, wondering if he had changed his mind about their arrangement. She knew he was embarrassed about his tears and doubted he had ever cried in the presence of anyone, much less a woman. ‘Well, I cannot help that,’ she murmured prosaically, as she composed herself for sleep.

She wondered if she would sleep, considering last night’s adventure with the old gentleman from Northumberland. Hopefully, he was well on his way home. What was that he had called her—‘his fair Cyprian’? She smiled to herself, pleased that for one night at least, she was not thinking of ruin or poverty, or where her next meal was coming from.

She woke in the morning to the sound of noise downstairs, and men talking and laughing as they hammered. She sat up and rubbed her eyes at the same moment the admiral tapped on her door.

‘Come in, sir,’ she said, wishing for a small moment that her nightgown was not so thin from repeated washings.

She shouldn’t have worried. In his nightshirt and dressing gown, the admiral was as shabby as she was. It was an elaborate gown, though.

‘My stars, did you find that in the court of the Emperor of Japan?’ she asked, by way of greeting.

He carried a tea cup and saucer. She noticed he had not put on his hook yet, and his left sleeve hung over his wrist.

‘You’re close,’ he said, as he nudged the door shut behind him and came to her bed. To her surprise, he told her to shift her legs and sat down. He handed her the cup. ‘I was given this bit of silk and embroidery by the Emperor of China, whose name I cannot at the moment remember, but who had a fondness for the otter pelts I had brought him from a quick raid up the coast of New Albion. I have no idea what those Yanks call it now. But that was years ago, and it is scarcely fit for more than the dust bin.’

Amused, she sipped her tea. He watched her, a smile in his eyes. ‘You look extraordinarily fine in the early morning,’ he said. ‘I didn’t know your hair was so curly.’

‘I usually have it whipped into submission by this time,’ she replied.

‘Well, that’s a shame,’ he told her. ‘I rather like it this way.’ He touched one of her curls, wrapping it around his finger. He didn’t seem at all uncomfortable and she decided she liked it.

She wasn’t sure why he had come into her room, because he seemed content to just sit on the bed while she drank her tea. She heard a thump from downstairs, grateful that it gave her something to ask him.

‘Sir, what is going on down there?’

Her question seemed to remind him. ‘Aye, madam wife, I did have a reason to come in here. Lord Brimley is not wasting a moment to help us. He has sent over an army of workers who are, as we speak, rigging up scaffolding in the sitting room, with the sole purpose of ridding us of randy cupids.’ He leaned closer and again she breathed his bay rum. ‘Mrs Bright, think how pleasant it will be to embroider in your sitting room and not worry about what those imps are doing overhead.’

She could tell his mood had lifted. ‘You feel better,’ she said.

He leaned even closer until his forehead touched hers. ‘I do, madam. Thank you for allowing me solitude.’

‘You only have to mention it and I will understand,’ she said softly, since his face was so close to hers. ‘That is our arrangement.’

Maybe an imp had escaped from the carnage in the sitting room below. For whatever reason, the admiral raised her chin and kissed her lips. ‘I’m not very good at this, but I am grateful for your forbearance,’ he told her, when his lips were still so close to hers.

On the contrary, he was quite good. In fact, she was disappointed that he did not kiss her again. He’s learned that somewhere in the world, she thought, as she sat back, careful not to spill her tea into his lap, since he sat so close.

And there they sat, eyeing each other. Sally felt herself relax under his gaze, which was benign. The imp must have still been in the room, because she found herself saying, ‘I like it when you bring me tea in the morning.’

‘I like it, too,’ he said, his voice as soft as hers, almost as if he felt as shy. ‘It could become a habit.’ He dispelled the mood by flapping his empty sleeve at her and getting to his feet. ‘If you are equal to the task, I thought we would abandon Chez Bright today and go to Plymouth. The under-steward that Lord Brimley sent is a paragon, and he so much as informed me in such a polite way, that I am a supernumerary.’ He ruffled her hair, which made her laugh. ‘So are you, madam. If we intend to cut a dash in the neighbourhood, we had better get ourselves some clothing that doesn’t brand us as vagrants or felons.’

‘I am certain you do not pay Starkey enough,’ Sally told Bright as they settled back into a post chaise that the butler had arranged to convey them to Plymouth.

‘You are most likely correct,’ he replied. ‘To show you the total measure of his devotion to me, he even enquired to find the most slap-up-to-the-mark modiste in Plymouth. His comrades in the fleet would never believe such a thing. Starkey is normally quite a Puritan.’

He hoped his wife would pink up at this news, and she did, to his pleasure. Amazing how a woman teetering on the other side of thirty could blush at the mention of a modiste, and still manage to maintain her countenance in a roomful of cupids doing things some people didn’t even do behind bolted doors. He did not pretend to understand women. Looking at the pretty lady seated across from him, he thought it politic not to try. Better to let her surprise him with her wit, and most of all, her humanity. He was beginning to think the most impulsive gesture of his life was shaping into the best one.

The first thought on her mind, apparently miles ahead of new clothes, was to seek out a bookshop. ‘I want to find something to entertain Mrs Brustein,’ she explained, as he handed her down from the chaise. ‘I intend to visit her as often as I can, and read to her.’

Even on the short few days of their acquaintance, he already knew it would be fruitless to pull out his timepiece and point out that they were already late to her modiste’s appointment, but he tried. She gave him a kindly look, the type reserved for halfwits and small children, and darted into the bookshop. Knowing she had no money, he followed her in, standing patiently as she looked at one book, and then another.

He knew he had been attracted by her graceful ways, but his appreciation deepened as he admired the sparkle in her eyes. He wasn’t entirely certain when the sparkle had taken up residence there, but it might have been only since early morning, when he had screwed up his courage and knocked on her door, bearing tea. His dealings with women had informed him early in his career about the world that few women looked passable at first light. Sophie Bright must be the exception, he decided. She was glorious, sitting there in bed in a nightgown too thin for company, if that was what he was. The outline of her breasts had moved him to kiss her, when he wanted to do so much more.

And here she was in a bookshop, poring over book after book until she stopped, turned to him in triumph and said, ‘Aha!’